But the good man appeared to be more anxious about his prisoners. He
went from cell to cell, making sure that all was safe, while his wife,
affirming that he had not the heart of a chicken, descended herself into
the courtyard.

In the meantime, Bertram and Dandie watched from their barred window the
savage figures of the smugglers triumphantly loading their boats with
their recovered goods, while the whole custom-house flamed to the
heavens, sending sparks and blazing fragments upon the roof of the
adjoining prison.

Soon at the outer gate was heard the thunder of sledge-hammers and
crows. It was being forced by the smugglers. Mac-Guffog and his wife had
already fled, but the underlings delivered the keys, and the prisoners
were soon rejoicing in their liberty. In the confusion, four or five of
the principal actors entered the cell of Bertram.

"Der deyvil," exclaimed the leader, "here's our mark!"

Two of them accordingly seized Bertram and hurried him along. One of
them, however, whispered in his ear to make no resistance for the
present--also bidding Dinmont over his shoulder to follow his friend
quietly and help when the time came. Bertram found himself dragged along
passages, through the courtyard, and finally out into the narrow street,
where, in the crowd and confusion, the smugglers became somewhat
separated from each other. The sound of cavalry approaching rapidly made
itself heard.

"Hagel and wetter!" cried the leader, no other than Hatteraick himself,
"what is that? Keep together--look to the prisoner!"

But, for all that, the two who held Bertram were left last of the party.
The crowd began to break, rushing this way and that. Shots were fired,
and above the press the broadswords of the dragoons were seen to
glitter, flashing over the heads of the rioters.

"Now," whispered the man who had before advised Bertram to be quiet,
"shake off that fellow and follow me."

Bertram easily did so, and his left-hand captor, attempting to draw a
pistol, was instantly knocked senseless by the huge fist of Dandie
Dinmont.

"Now, follow quick!" said the first, diving at the word into a dirty and
narrow lane. There was no pursuit. Mr. Mac-Morlan and the soldiers had
appeared in the nick of time. The smugglers had enough to do to provide
for their own safety.

At the end of the lane they found a post-chaise with four horses.

"Are you here, in God's name?" cried their guide.

"Ay, troth am I," said Jock J